


Beautiful Melodies

by SleazyTomlinson



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: A Lot Of Them Actually, AU, Anxiety Attacks, Anxiety Disorder, Awkward Flirting, Awkward Silences, Bad Flirting, Bad Pasts, Bullying, Crying, Depression, Derogatory Language, Drug Use, Duets, Fluff, Friends to Lovers, Gay, Gay Sex, Harry Styles and Louis Tomlinson are Neighbors, I cried while writing some of the parts, Implied/Referenced Suicide, Indie Music, M/M, Muteness, Panic Attacks, Past Child Abuse, Punk Harry, Punk Music, Quiet Harry, Sadness, Self-Acceptance, Self-Harm, Self-Hatred, Singing, Suicidal Thoughts, Suicide Attempt, TRIGGERING SCENES, Teen Romance, Twink Louis, Unintentional flirting, actually no I'm not, i'm sorry for making this, inspired by my own love for music, lots of singing, maybe a sad ending...oops, mentioning of bands and musicians, my first actual fic, rock music, shouting, singing while stoned
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-03-17
Updated: 2016-03-17
Packaged: 2018-05-27 06:21:24
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,501
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6273193
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SleazyTomlinson/pseuds/SleazyTomlinson
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>- Mu·sic<br/>ˈmyo͞ozik<br/>noun<br/>:vocal or instrumental sounds (or both) combined in such a way as to produce beauty of form, harmony, and expression of emotion.</p><p>Ex.( "Louis never knew that the sound of Harry's voice when singing and playing music would be able to cure his sadness." )</p><p> </p><p>- Love<br/>ləv<br/>noun<br/>:an intense feeling of deep affection.</p><p>Ex.( "Harry never knew that Louis' love would ever be able to make him speak again.")</p>
            </blockquote>





	Beautiful Melodies

**Author's Note:**

> So I've had this prompt for about a year and a half now but I've never actually started writing it until very recently. I hope you guys like it and considering it's my first fic, I don't guarantee the best. But I'd like to thank and give credit to my beautiful twitter sister I could ever ask for, Itzel, for motivating me and for thinking I could write. 
> 
> Also I do want to warn you guys ahead of time that there are some major and non-major triggering parts. If this story triggers you in any way, PLEASE stop reading and I apologize.
> 
> Thank you for taking your time to read this and I hope you enjoy!
> 
> (leave comments and Kudos if you want the story to continue!)
> 
> -Mar

 

 

Louis has always been curious. He was curious since a young age. About where babies came from, why his father had left he and his mother when he was only days old, and about his own sexuality when he was just hitting puberty. So when giant moving trucks pull up next to his house, he finds himself staring from his bedroom window and watching as men carry giant boxes into the vacant house next door. The furniture was nice, very modern; dark brown leather couches, a big sleek television, a dark brown wooden coffee table, etcetera, etcetera. Nothing too flashy that screamed "our family is better and richer than yours" or too wounded up that said "we're homewreckers and will soon wreck yours as well."

  
Then again, Louis was never good with judgement and most of the time ended up being wrong.

"What are you doing?" A small giggly voice came from behind him. Louis whipped his head around and found his youngest sister staring curiously at him, her head cocked to one side and her flashing smile. The three in the front were missing but that didn't seem to stop her.

  
"We have new neighbors," She nodded but craned her head a little to get a better view from where she was standing. Louis rolled his eyes; his sisters were just as nosy as him, if not, more. Sighing, he shifted slightly so there was enough space for him and his sister, as well, to stare out the window.

  
Once she clambered up clumsily beside him, she cautiously peeped her head out. "Do you think they have any kids my age?" She asked as she stared, drooping her head on his shoulder.

  
"Not sure, haven't seen anybody go in yet or out yet," just as the words slipped out, a silver truck parked just across from the house. From the car came out three bodies; A man and a women, and a boy. A teenage boy.

  
"Do you think that's them?" Milly squealed from beside him.

  
"Probably," Louis murmured distractedly, his eyes gluing themselves the teenager trailing behind what seems to be his parents. He let his eyes roam over to the lanky body clad in pure black attire. Black hoodie, faded and ripped black jeans, and black military styled boots that looked like they've seen better days. The boy's head and face was shielded from the world with the hood of the sweater.

  
Interesting.

  
"The lady has a pretty dress!" Milly squealed from beside him, knocking him back to reality. Louis reluctantly tore his eyes away from the intriguing boy and trailed up to the couple. It was an odd, almost comical, looking family. It was like the typical pretty family with colorful aura and their rebellious teenage son.

  
Louis let himself study the couple. The woman adorned a bright, floral dress, black hair tied into a bun atop of her head, and she had a bright, loud laugh. Beside her was a pudgy man wearing khaki bottoms and a striped button-up tucked into said pants. He smiled as he talked animatedly to the woman, causing more of that loud laugh.

  
How could someone as beautiful as her end up with a man like that?

  
"Looks like they don't have any pip-squeaks your age, Mills," Louis said as he moved off of the bed. He stretched his arms above his head and stalked towards his dresser. He can hear Milly huff out a breath and clamber off the bed to stand beside him. He feels her eyes on him as he opens his orange pill bottle and drops two little tablets onto his palm.

  
"Do those pills really make you happy?" She asks from beside him. Louis is so close to letting out a bitter laugh, but her innocence stops him. One glance at her smooth, chubby-cheeked face has his words clogging his throat.

He refuses to be the one to ruin her childhood by saying that these so-called " _happy pills_ ", as his mother told him to call them, are just to keep him " _stable_ " and from trying to down bleach again.

  
"Yeah," He answers shortly after he's done swallowing. Milly hums before hugging his left leg.

  
"Good. You should always be happy," and with that she skips out of his room, he preciously giddy aura following behind her and leaving Louis dark and empty.

  
He shakes his head and drops the pill bottle harshly onto the dresser. _If only it were that fucking easy_ , he thinks angrily to himself. His fingers graze the lettering on the bottle before he let's himself go back to his bed, the new neighbors clearing away from his mind and the old, dark thoughts suppress by.

  
**_TOMLINSON, W LOUIS_ **

**_ZOLOFT 50MG TAB_ **

**_USED TO TREAT DEPRESSION, OBSESSIVE-COMPULSIVE DISORDER, PANIC DISORDER, POST-TRAUMATIC STRESS DISORDER (PTSD), AND PREMENSTRUAL DYSPHORIC DISORDER (PMDD)_ **

 

 

\---

 

  
Louis is awoken the next morning by something...beautiful.

 

It's not the usual harsh screams of his sisters, nor his mother scolding them or the loud telly streaming some annoying children's program. Instead he hears guitar chords. He hears a familiar tune to one of his favorite songs; ' _Hear You Me_ ' by Jimmy Eat World. One he learned to play on the piano two years ago.

  
Louis scrubs at his face and turns to check the time on his clock. A quarter until it reaches six in the morning. _Who the hell is up at this hour?_

  
He doesn't let himself think too much on the ungodly hour of the morning and checks outside the window for the source of the music that is filling his ears with serenity. His eyes flit across the spans that his window provides before he stops when he spots a mop of brown curls.

  
Sitting in the middle of the neighbor's backyard was the same boy he saw the previous afternoon. Except this time, he can put a face to the lanky form. Not a perfectly clear one, seeing as they're still a good few feet away from each other plus the fact that Louis is on the second floor of his own home, but he can see enough.

  
The boy sits in the middle of patchy grass, adorned in a black long-sleeve, red plaid pajama bottoms, and a brown acoustic guitar sat on his lap while his fingers play the chords perfectly. He looks so soft, like he had just woken up. Louis wonders if he's going to wake Louis up every morning from now on with a song playing on his guitar.

  
Louis doesn't think he would mind much.

  
Suddenly the door leading to the backyard opens and out comes the woman he had seen previously yesterday afternoon, slightly yelling,"Harry, breakfast is ready! Come eat before it get's cold!"

  
_So that's his name_ , Louis thinks to himself as he wipes his eyes with his fists and yawns. _Harry_. His name is Harry.

  
Harry looked up and nodded at the woman before setting the guitar down carefully onto the grassy ground and stood up, dusting the shedding grass from his bottoms off. He scratched just above his hip lazily and slowly moved his arms above his head, stretching. His shirt rode up and revealed some of his pale flesh and what looked like tattoo ink. The pictures were unknown, but the were displayed on the v of his abdomen. Before Louis could identify what they were, his arms slumped back down to his sides and he was walking into his house. Then he was gone.

  
_Harry_ was gone.

 

 

\---

 

 

  
Two hours later, Louis found himself in his usual seat in the back of his English class. So far his morning had been okay. No slurs were being thrown his way yet, no purposeful shoving, no humiliating notes taped to his locker or left in his locker. It was almost frightening at how well things were going.

  
Maybe today is gonna be a good day.

  
_And maybe pigs will fly outside and he'll get to see them through the classroom window while his teacher strides around the class on a pegasus._

  
"Hey, faggot," Louis didn't even flinch. He kept his eyes glued to the assignment on his desk and perched his glasses further up the bridge of his nose. Their was no use in giving whoever the person who was harassing him for the day the attention.

  
"Don't fucking ignore me, you piece of shit!" Louis barely blinks before there's a loud clash and clunk, suddenly all of his things are missing and on the floor beside him. His paper is folded and crumpled underneath his textbook, his mechanical pencil's led is left askew, and eyes from the entire class are on him. Snickers and whispers are surrounding him but all Louis can feel is his cheeks heating and the teacher's eye's casting on him.

Those fucking bastards.

  
"Mr.Tomlinson, clean up this mess at once!" The woman shrilled. The class erupted into fits of laughter and all Louis could do was close his eyes shut and take a deep breath in and out. Then he sighed and got out of his chair to pick up his belongings. He's learned by now that there is never any use in arguing, no one ever believes him.

It's ridiculous, honestly. Many reports have been filed by his mother about his bullying, plus the many trips to the nurses office have sure to have been enough evidence. But, alas, the teachers don't seem to care. He doesn't blame them. They probably hate him for being gay, too.

  
"Fucking queer." The boy from earlier mutters to him. All Louis can do is bite his tongue and gather the rest of his things.

 

 

\---

 

 

  
About half way into his next class, he hears the name Harry. He hears about this new kid that flew in from the states that looks like the spawn of Mick Jagger and PonyBoy from the Outsiders. He hears about how tall the kid is, how he's got blue streaks in his hair and piercings covering his face. He hears how he's apparently the same age and grade as Louis.

  
Then he hears the door open and a familiar looking boy walk in. He has a curved posture and the descriptions he was given by the gossiping students is almost exactly accurate.

  
He walks in quietly and only lifts his eyes from their steely gaze on the floor to hand the teacher a green slip.

  
"Ah, so you're the infamous American student." The teacher cheers as she throws the slip into the garbage. The boy glances at her for a second only to nod once, then it's back to staring at his muddy black converse.

  
And it's definitely the boy from earlier, Louis thinks to himself. It's an odd thing to see him up close. Before, all Louis could make out was a boy clad in full black. Now up close, he can see a navy blue faded Strokes band tee covering his torso, a thin black jacket over it, extremely tight black skinny jeans, and old full black Converse.

  
His hair is a mess of curls and swirls, brown and blue. His hands look enormous as the grip his binder and notebook in one hand, the other fidgeting limply by his side. And his face-

  
Louis has never been one to know about beauty or what makes a person attractive but he's sure this boy was made by stone and painted in ivory.

  
His eyes are jade, forest, dark, and all the different greens put into two irises. Lips are sinfully plump and full and so pink. His face is covered in different rods and rings, two hoops on both sides of his bottom lip, one black stud in the skin space between his upper lip and his nose, two hoops on the right side of his nose, and one on his left brow. His jaw line looks sharp enough to cut through bricks, and even frowning, he looks absolutely alluring.

  
He looks like he just came out of some Punk-Rock magazine beside Ronnie Radke and Oliver Sykes.

  
"My name is Mrs.Finch, I'll be your Calculus teacher for the rest of the semester. So, let's not dilly-dally and just have a seat at any available desk."

  
Louis ducks his head down just as Harry looks up to survey the seats. There is only two more available seats; one in the very front beside the teacher's desk, and one beside Louis.

  
He prays to any and all existing Gods that the damn kid chooses to sit in the front.

  
But of course, luck is never on Louis' side. The kid takes long, slow strides until he reaches the back of the classroom and sits beside Louis. Louis still never lifts his eyes.

  
Or at least he tries.

  
Five minutes into the lecture, Louis lets himself have a quick peek at the stunning boy. He doesn't full-on stare at the kid, per say. Instead he side-eyes and hopes that he's being subtle. He watches the kid, face down and pen scratching the paper in front of him. He's not doing the actual assignment, but doodling little designs and swirls onto the page. His curls cascade down his pale face, white contrasting with greens, blues, and brown.

  
He's beautiful.

  
He snaps back into reality when the bell rings and suddenly, class is over. He gets his usual farewells of 'see you later, fag' and the plain name callings of 'faggot' and 'queer'. Louis tries his best to ignore it and slowly shoves his books and things into his messenger bag, not noticing the green eyes staring blatantly at him from beside him as he strides out the door.

 

 

\---

 

  
Louis doesn't see Harry again until lunch time. In all honesty, he forgot all about him. Louis' sitting in the back of the school building, a pencil in one hand and the other resting limp on his knee. The beginning melody of ' _Roger Rabbit_ ' by Sleeping With Sirens flow to his ears as he scratches the pointy pencil led into his skin. Pencils don't leave any actual print, but it leaves sore, raised marks onto the back of his palms that look rather lovely despite the picture being a simple stick figure doodle.

Louis has always loved to do this, ignoring the scolds he receives from his mother on how he'll get led poisoning or summat. He doesn't necessarily consider that a bad thing.

  
He sings quietly to himself while watching the lines raise and form darker colors.

  
_"Some wanna see you crash and burn_

 

_Criticize your every word_

 

_I'm trying to keep from going insane_

 

_Ain't that the way of this whole damn thing_

 

_Trying to be something..._

 

_More"_

  
Once upon a time, Louis didn't have to sit behind the school by himself. There was a time where he had actual friends and aquantances that followed him like cats to catnip and they'd all sit in the cafeteria in one of the largest tables. They'd all listen to his jokes and wit and smile along with him. Louis could even consider himself to have been popular. He was loud, had a sharp tongue, and was able to make anyone love him no matter how irritable he may have been. He was always the center of attention, he loved being it as well.

  
It all changed during his second year at college. It was then that something had felt rather odd. It didn't feel right, kept feeling like he was living to please everyone else except him. About half way into the year, he concluded that he wasn't like other boys. He didn't get off by thinking about female breasts or the idea of kissing glossy lips. He liked boys and that was it. It was a breath of fresh air, really. Louis was gay and he was so excited to have finally opened the window to his stuffy brain.

  
Now looking back, Louis regrets it all. His naivete and lack of thought kept his feet lifted too high, they didn't let him think about the consequences. He didn't let himself think thoroughly about what all this would mean.

  
But he learned quickly what people thought. He learned with every scowl and grimace shot towards him by the people who he thought were his friends. He learned when he got tripped and beat up just for existing. He learned when he saw his bestest of friends look at him as if they didn't know him, as if he was nothing but a piece of chewed gum under their shoes.

  
And Louis could say that it was all worth it. Everything that happened was just whatever and he could be happy now that he was being his true self. But if he did, Louis would be lying.

  
There isn't a moment when he ever thinks that his decision was for the better.

  
Suddenly his ear buds are being torn out harshly from his ears and unplugged from his phone. Louis winces at the harshness, dropping his pencil in the process.

  
"You emo little faggot. Cutting yourself for attention, then?" It's a different boy than the one from earlier. He actually knows this boys' name; James Elliot.

He was one of the boys who Louis had considered a good friend. They had known each other since primary school, hell, even their mothers were friends.

But then Louis had to go and ruin everything.

  
He doesn't stand alone either. Two friends laugh as they stand behind him, looking like a cliche movie gang of henchmen.

  
Louis rubs at his ears and quickly stands. He doesn't have the energy for this.

  
"Just give them back," Louis grits, reaching for his earphones. James laughs and lifts his arm high above his head making it impossible for Louis to reach them with his short height. Generally James stands a good few inches taller than Louis, having lifted his arm up high makes Louis have no chance.

  
It's humiliating, really. Louis hops up to reach but no matter how high he tries going, he never even gets close to touching them. He always used to see this happening in fake TV shows or movies, it's almost comical how corny this scene is.

  
Louis gives up after another minute of incessant jumping. He huffs a breath and hopes that his cheeks aren't as rosy as they feel. He's glad that there aren't any people out here, he'd never hear the end of it.

Grabbing his bag and dropped pencil, he makes his way back into the school building. Or he tries to anyway. He ends up falling on his bum no more than seconds later, his strap having been pulled back to prevent him from leaving.

  
"Oh, we're not done with you." James growls. Then he's being held back and forced into the building. The two other boys grip tightly on each of his arms, not letting go no matter how much Louis squirms.

  
"Let go of me!" Louis yells but it's useless. It seems that the harder he tries, the harder they grip their hold.

  
They finally stop when they reach the bathroom, then Louis' being tossed like a ragdoll onto the floor. James steps right in front of him and leans down to meet at eye level with Louis.

  
"Look at me." James growls. Louis keeps his eyes trained to the ground, lip quivering and eyes becoming wet. No, not again.

  
He hears another growl just as his hair is being pulled back, the new angle giving Louis a perfect view of James' faux innocent smile.

  
"I'm not gonna feel bad for what I'm about to do. And you know why?" James hums, voice in fake innocence. Louis gulps loudly, shaking his head even though he knows exactly why.

  
"Because you're an abomination to this world, nothing but a fucking piece of gay shit. You're fucking worthless," James grits, sending stray spit to Louis' face after every word.

  
And Louis just takes it. He takes it because he's used to this by now. He's used to getting pushed around and he's used to getting called names. There's no use in fighting against him, nor the rest of the people who do this kind of thing to Louis daily. Louis' grown numb from this. Grown to call this a normalcy.

It doesn't make the pain any more tolerable, but he knows that there's no point in doing anything when he'll just end up in the same position later on. Again and again and again.

  
James tosses him back onto the floor, a dark laugh coming out in heavy breaths. The first hit comes almost welcomely to Louis. Fist colliding against Louis' left cheek and part of his nose, leaving Louis breathless. He doesn't get time to recover as he lays on the floor, hand cradling his bruising face, before a surge of pain is coming from his abdomen. Kick after kick onto his torso coming from not just James anymore, but the other two boys as well.

  
Pain shoots from all around his torso, the bruises that were just barely starting to fade from the other attack he survived through two weeks ago now recieve new coloring. He's sure he probably looks like a messy rainbow under his shirt.

 

Slurs are being thrown like confetti at him, every derogatory name imaginable is spat at him, hitting him like bullets.

 

And Louis can't do anything but lay there and take it.

  
He didn't know he had his eyes closed until suddenly the surges to his body stopped. Hesitantly he peeked an eye open to see what was going on. His blurry vision only allowed him so much but he easily made out a tall figure standing by the door. Louis' first thought was that it was probably another friend of these assholes, one who was probably going to hurt Louis as well. But as Louis opened both eyes, rubbing away the tears with the back of his scratched palm, he realized that it wasn't just any student.

  
It was _Harry_.

  
He stood there with his hands gripping at his books almost too tightly, leaving his knuckles white. The boys who attacked Louis were tall, but he was taller; now towering over all of them. His eyebrows were set in a deep frown, almost menacingly. And his eyes- his eyes weren't the jade color from before. They were dark, almost a dark brown color.

  
He looked about ready to kill.

  
The boys that were digging their fists and feet onto Louis' flesh not even a minute ago now stood still. They were frightened, anyone could tell. And by the way Harry was staring at them, Louis couldn't blame them for looking like they were about wee in their trousers.

  
Harry was intimidating even before looking like he was about ready to break someone's neck. It might be for the way he dresses in dark colors, or the impressive amount of rods and rings on his face, or maybe just the fact that he towers over almost everyone and has a built body.

  
Or maybe just all of the above.

  
They stayed like that for minute or two; Louis sitting on the floor, holding his bruising stomach, the boys staring like deer caught in headlights, and Harry glaring at them as if his eyes had the power to mar them.

  
Then Harry took at step back and blindly reached for the door. His face set in a scowl never left James'.

  
Louis' stomach dropped instantly. Was Harry really about to leave him here? He just walked in on Louis getting beat and he's not going to say anything?

  
Louis shouldn't be this surprised, honestly. This has happened numerous of times where people purposely ignore his cries of pain or his pleas. It used to make Louis so angry at the lack of help he gets but he's learned that if it's not their problem, they aren't going to get involved.

  
With that being said, Louis is still a little disappointed at the fact that Harry is just like one of the other students here who probably think Louis deserves everything he gets.

  
Except Harry isn't like the others. He holds the door open, eyes glaring at the group of savages, and stares at them like he's waiting for them to exit.

  
And they do. Instantly, they grab their bags and belongings that they piled on the floor before beating the crap out of Louis, and basically ran out the door.

  
Louis sat up cautiously with his hands still around his waist. He didn't look up, didn't want to. He was too embarrassed.

  
The fact that he couldn't fend for himself for his lack of body strength and height is downgrading enough, he doesn't need the worthless pity from others.

  
Don't get Louis wrong, he is grateful and appreciative that he had somehow stopped Louis from getting his bones broken, but he doesn't need sad eyes staring at him like he's some frail animal. Except that's what he looks like right now; a frail, kicked puppy. Louis hates it. He hopes that Harry will just leave him be.

  
But of course, he doesn't. Large feet walk up to Louis until they stand right in front of Louis. He notices his stance, how his toes turn inwardly like a child. His shoes have tiny holes and are almost faded to this musty green color.

  
Then a hand is being reached out right in front of Louis face. They could almost be considered paws by how big they are.

  
Hesitantly Louis takes his offering. Without looking up at Harry, he lets himself be pulled up to stand properly and dusts his jeans off from any dirt.

  
And Harry keeps a light grip on his hand, feather-like but somehow it sends shivers down his spine.

  
He still doesn't look up.

  
Not until his hand is being tugged.

  
Louis' head snaps up immediately. Harry goes and sets his books onto the counter of sinks, tugging Louis softly towards the same direction as well. Louis let's himself be pulled and eyes him curiously once he's in front of Harry. They stand a good foot apart but they're close enough to measure just how tall they are compared to each other. He's a good foot taller than him, more or less.

  
Harry lets go of Louis' hand and opens his binder and the blue pencil case inside it. He pulls out two band-aids and a small package of tissues, tearing it open with his teeth and pulling one out. Louis watches as he soaks one of the tissues under the tap, eying him curiously. His hair cascades over his eyes like earlier, the inside of his cheek being pulled inwardly by his teeth.

  
He squeezes out the excess water before turning to face Louis, who's expression hasn't changed. Slowly Harry places the tissue onto Louis' cheek. He dabs the blood that oozed from Louis' nose and-

  
and he's so _gentle_.

  
His brows are knitted in concentration as he gently wipes the blood off of Louis' cheek, chin, and lips. Louis holds his breath; he doesn't even know the kid but here he is caring for Louis' wounded face.

  
It's weird, yeah, but it's more unexpected than anything. Harry who looks like he would punch anyone who every crossed him, is here in front of Louis, cleaning his wounds.

  
Louis wonders if the blush on his cheeks look as if it's on fire as they feel.

  
"Y-you don't have to-like I can do it myself, don't worry about it," Louis mutters weakly, almost embarrassingly. He wonders if Harry didn't hear him or just flat out ignored him, because the movements don't stop. He continues to wipe the blood, more cautious and slow when he pats just under Louis' bloody nostril.

  
Louis winces but Harry doesn't say anything, just sends an apologetic glace meeting Louis' eyes. When he's done, he steps back to inspect Louis' face, slightly nodding to himself as if to confirm himself.

  
Louis sighs through his nose, cringing a little at the pain, but doesn't say anything else as Harry shuffles around him. Harry leans down so he's at eye level with Louis' arms and takes his right wrist lightly.

  
Louis pretends that his skin doesn't tingle at the contact.

  
In all honesty, Louis hadn't even noticed that he had gotten scratched and bruised there as well. It's slightly alarming to see a long jagged line across the back of his forearm and a couple tiny ones scattered around the other.

  
Harry notices Louis' shocked expression but keeps quiet, instead going over the cuts with another wet tissue, most likely an alcohol-soaked towelette. They don't hurt, per say. It gives Louis' skin a short sting but nothing more.

  
Harry seems to really know what he's doing. He cleans and bandages the cuts nicely as if he were a trained nurse or something. And Louis shouldn't judge him for his appearance but it really is a sight to see.

  
_A big, punk guy helping the tiny little queer boy with his wounds after he got bullied._

  
Louis tries not to laugh bitterly _._

  
His eyes snap back up when Harry finally stands. Again, he inspects his work, giving himself another reassuring nod, and then zipping his pencil case and closing his binder. Louis stays in the same position as Harry moves to throw away the bandage packages and bloody tissues.

  
His cheeks are still on fire, Louis can feel them. At this point, he doesn't know if this blush will ever go away. He shakes his head at the thought and twines his fingers together, paying attention to his feet that are covered in dirty white VANS. He makes a short mental note to wash them when he gets home.

  
He doesn't notice when Harry comes back until there are black Coverse standing a foot away from his own feet. There's tension in the air, and it's suffocating. Again the thought of a random kid coming to clean Louis' up after his scrap is odd. Maybe he's just that nice, maybe the kid really cared for what happened to Louis.

  
Or maybe it was just pity.

  
Louis feels even shittier rather quickly.

  
But nonetheless, he is grateful. Even if Harry hadn't helped Louis to cover the wounds, he still stopped the boys from beating him half to death.

  
He should probably thank him and break this rather awkward tension right about now.

  
So Louis clears his throat, lifting his head to look at Harry. Harry who is already staring intently at him. Weird.

  
But as usual, Louis is an unlucky soul.

  
The school bell rings signaling the end of their lunch period. He makes eye contact with Harry for a second or two but then Harry is moving. He steps away from Louis and goes to pick up his school supplies. And Louis wants to reach out, wants to stop him and tell him at least a quick thank you before Harry leaves.

  
But Louis is Louis. So he doesn't move nor says a word as he watches Harry take slow strides to the door and out of the bathroom.

  
A moment passes before realization strikes Louis and he's groaning into the palms of his hands. _Idiot, idiot idiot! Why didn't you say anything!? Why do you have to be such a bloody fool all the time?_ Another heavy sigh leaves his lips then he's turning to look at his reflection. Though there is still a light bruising color on his cheek, his face is...it's clean. No signs that he had a bloody nose or blood smeared across his face. Impressive. He lifts a careful hand to touch just under his nose and almost whines loudly at the pain. Then he lifts his T-shirt, uncovering the skin. To someone else, the bruises might look horrifying, horrendous even. Louis, though, Louis is used to it. He's used to seeing his skin discolored. Painted like a canvas with different shades of purples, blues, greens, and yellows. There are no scratches, which is nice. Overall, he looks like a piece of delicate art. It's watercolor paint on tanned paper. It's oddly calming when he thinks of it that way.

  
He pushes his shirt down and gives himself another once-over then grabs his dirty messenger bag up from the ground. He slings the strap over his shoulder and across his torso, careful not to touch the new marks. Just as he's about to push the restroom door open, something catches his eye. On his arm, their are bandages. They're neatly put on and secure on his skin. That isn't what catches his attention though. It's the little Spiderman cartoon image on them that stops him in his tracks.

  
This boy...he's something else.

 

 

\---

 

 

That night, Louis falls asleep listening to ' _Iris_ ' by The GooGoo Dolls being played by the same guitar as this morning. He dreams of brown and blue swirls, green gazes, and lips that have yet to speak a word to him.

 

 

 

 

 


End file.
